Promises
by sophiedoodle
Summary: Chakotay confronts Janeway about her recent decisions.


Promises

Disclaimer: Star Trek Voyager, its characters, etc. are owned by Paramount.

"Is there anything else?" Kathryn inquired, her eyes flitting around the conference table. Although the words appeared as an invitation to further discussion or comment, the clipped tone of her voice spoke a clear contradiction, and the senior staff instantly averted their gazes. "Dismissed." Hardly a whisper issued from the officers as they subtly fled from the room. Kathryn shoved her chair back and stood.

"Captain? May I have a word?" Chakotay spoke calmly but with quiet surety. Kathryn sighed, gritting her teeth and whirling to spear him with the unsuppressed fire in her eyes.

"Actually, Commander," she retorted icily, "I have now been on duty for approximately forty-eight hours. I have my first meeting with the Irjani scheduled for 0800, and my only intention right now is to have a very large cup of coffee and a few hours sleep. Your comments will have to wait."

Chakotay stared at her, a small smile creeping along his full lips.

"Is something amusing, Commander?" The words dropped like chips of ice.

"No," he said, shaking his head and dimpling anyway. "But you must _really _not want to hear what I have to say if you're willingly going to bed. I thought I would have to pry you out of your Ready Room before you'd admit that you're exhausted."

Kathryn magnified her glare and slammed an errant PADD onto the conference table. "I don't recall giving you permission to speak freely, Commander," she hissed. "Unless, perhaps, I'm too _exhausted_ to remember. "

Chakotay sighed. "Kathryn…" he began. But she was already flouncing towards the door and into the turbolift. He managed to slip in and stood facing her suddenly. His impatience softened as he saw how clearly worn out she was. Reaching toward her, he rested his big hands on her shoulders. "How about some dinner? My treat. You heard what Neelix said about the, um, _mishap_ in the Mess Hall during lunch today." Kathryn avoided his eyes, shaking her head.

"Not tonight. Thank you, though." She added the pleasantries as almost an afterthought, her face grim. The turbolift doors opened, and she hurriedly strode through them, Chakotay remaining stubbornly at her side.

"Are you sure you don't want to reconsider, Captain?" he pressed, his tone casual, but his eyes beseeching hers. "I think I have enough rations left to replicate some caramel brownies for dessert."

"I'm sure, Commander," she responded brusquely, tapping in the security code at her door. "Good night." The doors parted, and she entered without a backwards glance, obviously expecting Chakotay to have made his way down the corridor to his own quarters.

Then she heard the telltale sound of his footfalls behind her.

"_You're way out of line, Commander_!" Kathryn spat over her shoulder. With a couple of long strides, Chakotay maneuvered in front of her, forcing her to stop. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared. Chakotay drew in a breath and looked at her calmly.

"Kathryn, I haven't even said anything yet," he said mildly.

"I know why you followed me in here." Her eyes spit fire.

"Do you?" he murmured.

"I know you, Chakotay," she said fiercely. "I know what you're going to say. And I _don't _want to hear it."

Chakotay sighed, rubbing a hand across his forehead.

"Okay," he replied softly. "Can we at least sit down? We don't have to talk unless you want to." Her gaze clung to his face and for a moment, there was more than just rage in her eyes.

"Fine." She flopped down onto the couch, crossing both her legs and arms. Chakotay walked casually over to the replicator on the far wall and then joined her on the couch, handing her a steaming mug. She accepted it almost reluctantly, then cradled the cup near her face, inhaling the scent and steam.

"You can drink it. It's not poisoned," he commented wryly. "I'm not _that _frustrated with you." Then he winced as her expression flattened immediately, the fleeting moment of almost-contentment extinguished.

"I'm sorry, Kathryn," he said quietly. "That was uncalled for." He indulged in a cautious sip of his own tea, but his eyes never left her face.

"Yes, but it was the truth." Sharp words.

"Actually, I'm not really frustrated. I'm more worried about you," he admitted, setting his cup down on the table. "You've been…different…lately. You haven't been yourself. There are certain things that don't seem so important to you lately." He spread his hands in a helpless yet placating gesture.

"Like…" she trailed off in venomous anticipation.

Chakotay hesitated for a long moment, struggling to keep his face impassive. Kathryn's eyes hardened, and he knew his sudden reluctance would only exacerbate her wrath. "Like"—he paused in painful consideration—"your values."

Kathryn's face went white, and Chakotay felt his heart twist.

"Tell me this, Chakotay," she hissed angrily. "What's the longest you've ever had to keep a promise?"

"Kathryn, what—"

"What's the longest you've kept a promise, Chakotay?" she repeated, almost shouting this time. "An hour? A day? A month? A year?" Her voice rose neatly in crescendo with every addition.

"Kathryn, I honestly don't know where you're going with this." His voice was quiet, almost conciliatory, and he reached out to touch her shoulder, but she moved away, turning so her face was hidden by the shadows of her half-darkened quarters.

"I made a promise, Chakotay, a promise to this crew that I would get them home. I stranded them out here, and I vowed to get them back. Have you ever had to live a promise every day, every minute of your life for _years_, doing everything, _everything,_ you could to fulfill that promise? I've given all that I am to this mission, to that vow. And if there's not much left of me, well, I've done my duty."

"No one blames you anymore, Kathryn," he said softly. "The guilt you wear is of your own making."

She slammed him with a fierce glare. "This isn't about _blame,_ Chakotay, and it's not about guilt. This is about taking responsibility for my actions."

He studied her for a long moment. "Yes, you're right, Kathryn. It _is_ about taking responsibility for your actions. So why don't you stop being defensive for a minute and consider some of the actions you've taken recently?"

"It's obvious that _you_ have been _considering_ some of the actions I've taken. I'm sure you have plenty of disapproval to share." Her tone was biting, but her eyes held a barely disclosed tinge of fear. "So let me be frank. I'm not in the mood to listen to the protests of my well-meaning first officer."

"Okay," Chakotay said casually, taking another sip of his tea. "I can understand that. What about listening to your friend?"

She was caught by his closeness. But then he dropped the equivalent of the atomic bomb.

"Or is having friends not important to you anymore either?"

Kathryn was instantly standing, barely concealing the tremble of rage that freely coursed through her body.

"Get out. _Now_." Even in the worst of times, she had never spoken to him in that voice. Her face was flushed, her lips pale and set. But her eyes were extraordinary. They burned blue flame like a raging chemical reaction.

And yet, somehow, it was the most vulnerable he had seen her in months and so he stood his ground.

"Let's start with the Equinox, Kathryn. Let's talk about Ransom," he said resolutely.

"Chakotay," she growled.

"And how about the Relawi a few months ago? Do you recall destroying their outpost with a photon torpedo?" he continued. "We could have walked away from that encounter, but you had to have the last word."

"We were under attack," she protested. "They—"

"They were no threat, Kathryn! Except to your pride!"

"That's _enough_, Chakotay!"

"And now the Irjani—"

She slapped him, her hand moving swiftly and of its own volition. Chakotay didn't flinch, he didn't even move. And Kathryn didn't apologize.

The silence stretched, long and tenuous. Then Kathryn turned and swiftly walked over to the viewport. She collapsed with sudden, pervasive weariness against the side wall and buried her face in her hands.

"Kathryn, you know, I may not agree with some of the decisions you've been making. But it doesn't change the way I feel about you." Chakotay was standing behind her, close enough that the warmth of their bodies mingled. She looked at him, biting her lip.

"You were right, you know," she whispered. "After the Equinox. What _has_ happened to me?" She reached out to almost-touch the redness of his cheek, and the pain cutting across her face was nearly more than he could bear. He stepped even closer, but she shook her head, folding her arms tightly across her chest.

"No," she said, more to herself than to him. "What have I _allowed _to happen to me?"

He looked away for a moment than met her gaze straight on. "You didn't _allow_ anything, Kathryn. You reached out and embraced it wholeheartedly." He kept his voice soft, without accusation, but she still flinched.

"Chakotay," she protested, her voice raw. Her eyes searched his almost pleadingly but found no reprieve in their depths. And then her arms slowly, slowly, slid down to her sides and her back straightened. The flame of hurt in her eyes was smothered, replaced by ashes, cold and lifeless. Her real mask slipping back into place. Not the captain's mask, the one she wore when she was toe-to-toe with the Borg Queen or threatening to fire on a hostile ship. This was the mask he'd slammed up against for seven years now, a mask that doubled as full-body armor, the impenetrable barrier that hid Kathryn herself, that kept her safe and passably sane most of the time, that said her emotions were irrelevant, and thus implied that so, too, were his. Her chin tilted upwards.

"Good night, Commander." Her voice was steely, but he could hear the tension beneath it, the emotion that boiled just under the surface. It was a dangerous voice, so quiet and yet so hard, threatening that it could explode in an instant if given the right catalyst. It was a voice that had caused many a crew member to back down over the years, many an alien to think twice.

Kathryn walked swiftly to her bedroom door, but not before he saw her raise a hand to her mouth to stifle her tears. He heard it, a half-sob, half-curse that she tried to muffle. He was across the room, grabbing her arm before she could even press the door release and pulling her into him, her head pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her back. It was a very long time before either of them spoke again. Finally, Kathryn stepped from their embrace, lifting her head to acknowledge him fully, searchingly.

"How do you know when a promise you've made is too big for you to keep? Or too big for you to keep alone?"

"You're not alone, Kathryn. None of us are," he said. "Let us help you before this promise swallows up everything in you."

"I think it already has." Kathryn dropped her head, but Chakotay reached out and tipped up her chin with gentle fingers. He searched her eyes for a long moment, and she found herself shivering under the intensity of his gaze.

"No," he murmured. "I can still see _you_." She smiled at him, the first genuine smile that had crossed her lips in far too long.

"Now get some rest, Captain," he said just as softly. "We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow."

"Chakotay, I-" Kathryn began, but he shook his head.

"Good night." She found herself riveted by the careful tone of his voice and the longing fierceness in his bottomless eyes. She followed him to the door of her quarters, her feet moving almost unconsciously in his direction.

"By the way," Chakotay said quietly, pausing at the door and staring straight into her eyes. "Almost seven years."

"What?" she murmured.

"The longest I've kept a promise." He pressed his fingertips to his mouth and then brushed them against her lips for a fleeting second.

And then he was gone.


End file.
